“No offense, but this really is a Podunk little country bumpkin town.”
“Ha ha… Sorry if it’s not up to snuff for you. What was your old neighborhood like?”
“Not nearly as metropolitan as you’re imagining. Pretty basic residential area, actually.”
“Wow, really? You mean you didn’t waltz on over to Harajuku and eat fancy crêpes after school on a daily basis?”
Anzu snickered. “You’ve got an awfully specific mental image of Tokyo life. I mean, sure, there are kids who do stuff like that, but I only knew two or three at most. Downtown is far.”
“Huh. That’s wild to me.”
“Just the way it is.” Anzu shrugged before pivoting the conversation back to me. “So, what do you usually do after school?”
“Oh, just whatever. Read manga, cook dinner, chill. Basic stuff.”
“Wow, you know how to cook?”
“I dabble.”
“Maybe one of these days you’ll have to invite me over for dinner.”
As we carried on making small talk, I quietly realized that something felt off about Anzu. She seemed awfully chipper and was being far more talkative than usual. I would normally have considered this a positive development, yet something about her demeanor suggested she was desperate to keep the conversation from dying and was filling the void with whatever words she could find. Almost like she was trying to butter me up before telling me something she knew I wouldn’t want to hear… Then again, it was a very minor behavior shift, all things considered, so maybe I was imagining it.
We walked down the covered sidewalk of the depressed shopping district beneath a canopy of exposed steel beams. It had certainly seen better days; the number of shuttered storefronts far outweighed the number of shops still in business. A stray cat lazily walked in front of us from behind a hat shop that I had never once seen a single customer enter.
“Is there really a café around here?” Anzu asked, growing visibly concerned.
“Yeah, it’s a little hole-in-the-wall right up… Aha. There it is.” I pointed to a signboard they had posted out at the roadside. We proudly serve KEY COFFEE, said the manufacturer-provided advertisement. Next to the entrance was a glass display case featuring fake versions of some of the food offerings: a rice omelet, Napolitan spaghetti, et cetera. A bell jingled as we opened the door and were greeted by the old woman that ran the joint, who was resting her head in her hands on the countertop.
“Hey, kids. Place is empty, so go ahead and sit wherever,” she said, before getting up and heading back into the kitchen. She was obviously annoyed to have her downtime interrupted. We navigated the narrow, dimly lit interior, took a seat at a table for two, and proceeded to peruse the menu. I quickly settled on the rice omelet, while Anzu ordered the deli sandwich. We also requested a pot of coffee for after our meal. The woman scribbled our orders down, then brought two glasses of ice water. I downed mine in a single gulp and plunked the empty cup on the tabletop.
“So what did you—”
“So listen, um—”
Whoops. We’d both started talking at the exact same time. I scratched my head sheepishly and urged Anzu to go first.
“Oh, no, I just, uh… I was wondering if you come to this place very often,” she said.
“Mmm, every now and then. Maybe once a month or so?”
“Just by yourself?”
“Yeah, since junior high, at least. Before that, Karen and I used to come together.” Usually also with my mother and father, mind you, but I felt no need to mention them specifically.
“Interesting… What kind of kid was Karen, anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
“Aw, man. She was great… Super cute, and a pretty smart cookie to boot. Just insanely good at reading the room and picking up on social cues. If she’d lived to junior high, I guarantee she would’ve been the most popular girl in school.”
“Wow. I’d really love to hear more about her. Got any fun stories you can share?”
“Oh, do I ever! I still remember this one time, back when she was only three years old, when we were—”
I started rattling off a number of hilarious childhood anecdotes, but all the while, I was thinking to myself that something didn’t feel right. Obviously I was glad for the opportunity to talk about my little sister, but why did Anzu suddenly seem so interested in knowing more about her? Surely this couldn’t be the reason she’d called me to meet. After finally reaching a stopping point in my recounting of classic Karen moments, I decided to ask.
“So hey, what did you want to talk abou—”
“All righty, kids. One rice omelet and one deli sandwich.”
Unfortunately, our food showed up before I could finish.
“Let’s eat first,” Anzu suggested.
“Y-yeah, okay.”
It looked like I’d have to wait until after lunch. Oh well. Using the bottom of my spoon, I spread the ketchup out over the top of the omelet. It was your average, simple rice omelet, a thin layer of egg wrapped around chicken fried rice, but it was the most cost-effective item on the menu from a price-per-calorie standpoint, so I made a habit of ordering it every time.
I glanced up at Anzu as I cut my omelet with the side of my fork. Her deli sandwich was pretty hefty, layers upon layers of ham, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese on French bread. She clutched it with both hands like a hamburger, letting her teeth sink in deep. I had to admit, it looked pretty good. I made a mental note to order that the next time I came—then remembered that this place would very likely be gone by the time we returned from the Urashima Tunnel. As I stared with melancholy at the sandwich I’d likely never have a chance to try, I noticed something: Anzu’s hands were trembling.
“Hey, Hanashiro?”
“Mmf…? Whash up?”
“Is the AC bothering you?”
She swallowed her bite. “No, it’s fine.”
“Well, all right… You’ve got some mustard on you, by the way.” I rubbed my thumb against the corner of my own mouth to indicate where it was.
Anzu went pink and quickly wiped it off with a napkin. It seemed she was totally oblivious to the fact that her hands were shaking. I thought it strange but finished my meal nonetheless. After taking our dishes away, the woman brought out our after-lunch coffee.
“So you mentioned over the phone you wanted to talk about something?” I said.
“I wanted to ask you about your little sister.” Anzu poured milk and sugar into her coffee and stirred it around. “I figured I should know a bit more about her, or else how am I supposed to find her in the tunnel?” Her spoon clinked rhythmically against the sides of the ceramic coffee cup.